The footman and the duke
by Gwdihw
Summary: Chronicling the 'youthful dalliance' between Thomas and the Duke of Crowborough that one summer, we see that even the bitterest heart can be broken. Rated T to be safe, but this is old-fashioned romance, eyes meeting across a crowded room and all that...
1. The Beau of the Ball

The Footman and the Duke

Chapter one: The beau of the ball

June 1912

The London air is buzzing with the energy of a new season. Even though we're not a part of it, the excitement is infectious and I can see William grinning slightly to himself, thrilled to be here. I restrain from rolling my eyes in the presence of the Crawleys, but as I brush past him, I drawl:

'Calm down, it's not your bloody party.' He shoots me that half-apologetic, half-embarrassed puppy-eyed look which I find sadistically thrilling. If he didn't act so sweet, I wouldn't be so tempted to give him hell, but he'll never learn.

This is the fourth night in a row that the girls have been invited to a party and, even though Lady Edith is the debutante, Lady Mary is the one who cannot move for admirers; she showers charming smiles on the young gentlemen of the room, making the odd witty remark. Lady Edith glowers at the floor. I've always felt a strange sort of kinship with Lady Edith despite the fact that we've barely exchanged two words during my time at Downton. As a footman, I see and hear so many of the eloquent evening conversations, and it's difficult not to notice that Lady Edith is the one who is constantly either pushed to one side or ignored entirely. Were it not for the fact that our respective positions in life make a frank conversation between us impossible, I would tell her that we were made of the same sort of stuff: both outside looking in.

'You two can go downstairs to the servants hall,' the Baron of Hailsham's butler informs William and me curtly. 'We have enough footmen and you'll only be underfoot.' I can't tell whether he's being deliberately funny; like Carson's, his sombre expression seems to be carved of stone. I smile politely and bob my head before being lead downstairs.

Downstairs, we all breathe more easily, shoulders dropping and solemn expressions relaxing. Being a city house, it could never be as big as Downton, and I find the cramped, overheated kitchen somewhat claustrophobic.

'I expect you're both starving,' the cook tells us sympathetically, indicating that we should sit at the wooden table. One of the maids giggles obnoxiously as I sit next to her. Usually, I might have amused myself by trying to charm her – it's funny how much I enjoy flirting with women – but tonight, I can't seem to muster the energy. I hope this ball doesn't go on until two o'clock in the morning like the last one.

'How are you finding London?' the pretty maid next to William asks, batting her lashes and playing with a tendril of her coppery hair. He stutters and blushes as he tells her that it's a very fine city indeed, but that his heart belongs in the countryside. He really should be used to this sort of attention from the maids by now – whenever we go anywhere with the family, female staff are generally very interested in two handsome and smartly dressed footmen. Bored, I light a cigarette.

'What about you?' I'm asked. 'Are you a country lad, too, Thomas?'

'Hardly,' I mutter. I take a deep drag of my cigarette before continuing. Yes, I know it's a bit daft to act brooding and mysterious, but you can't deny that the young girls lap it up. 'I'm from Manchester originally, and I can't tell you how much I miss civilisation when I'm in Yorkshire.'

The kitchen maid's eyes mist over dreamily as she dries a saucepan. 'I'd love to go to Yorkshire, I would. It sounds dead romantic with all those moors and hills.' Poor thing, I reason to myself, she's probably never been out of the London back alleys. She's lucky to have landed a job in a place like this, even if she is on the lowest rung of the domestic servant ladder. She's like an urban version of our Daisy back home, I think affectionately. As drippy as Daisy is a lot of the time, I'm actually fonder of her than of the majority of the household. Perhaps it's because she adores me so unconditionally and I admire her taste.

We're served soup – it's nowhere near as good as back home, but they probably can't get hold of such fresh ingredients as in the country. Nevertheless, I thank Mrs Roberts and compliment her cooking. She beams brightly at me.

'You can be so charming when you want to be,' William mutters reproachfully.

'It's called people skills, William, I suggest you learn them if you don't want to be stuck as second footman forever!'

I really am trying to suppress the need to snap constantly at William. It's not that I feel guilty for doing so, but I'm worried that someone might get suspicious. The last thing I need is for Mrs Patmore to make a snide comment about how I'm overcompensating for something.

'I bet you had a lovely time growing up in the country!' Urban Daisy sighs dramatically. 'Climbing trees and going fishing and having picnics on your day off.'

I suppose that it was more likely to be a case of waking up at half four in the morning to feed the cows and plough the fields, but William doesn't disabuse her of her rustic fantasy and tells her some adorable little story about playing with the chickens and the ducks.

'Why is it that you moved out to the country if you miss the city so much?' the housemaid to my right asks quizzically. I bristle inwardly at such a personal question, but I force myself to smile easily.

'I had to leave home, and the position of footman at Downton Abbey was the first thing to come up. It was either that or manual labour, so I reckon I've been lucky.' Thankfully, she has the tact not to ask why I had to leave home. I don't think my politeness would have stretched as far as that.

Time is dripping on slowly. My eyes are burning, but the laughter and singing from upstairs suggests that the party isn't slowing down any time soon. Well, they don't have to get out of bed before noon if they don't want to – it's us poor beggars down here who'll have to be up at the crack of dawn regardless!

Thankfully, Lady Mary decides that she is simply too tired to dance any longer, and William and I are discretely summoned from downstairs.

'I'm very sorry to have to leave your delightful soiree so early, but I really couldn't stay on my feet any longer,' Lady Mary apologises charmingly to the Baron. 'You know, I haven't stopped to rest all night!'

The Baron mutters something about it being a pleasure to enjoy her company while Lady Edith glares at the floor. I would bet ten pound that there were considerable lengths of time during the night where she was left without a dancing partner.

Just as we're reaching the door, a handsome gentleman darts forward to speak to Lady Mary.

'Why, you're leaving now?' he teases Lady Mary, his pretty brown eyes igniting with mischief. 'When the night is still so young and I've barely had you to myself all evening?'

'You must think us frightfully rude, but we're truly exhausted,' Lady Mary tells him, a faint pink blush creeping into her face at the attention of the gentleman, at which I can hardly be surprised.

I shouldn't really have been looking at him at all, because I'm just a footman and it isn't my business, but I couldn't hold back my eyes from raking over his lovely face. For the briefest second before he turned to go back to the party, when Lady Mary and Lady Edith had already started moving back towards the door, the gentleman stared back at me, sending a shiver or delight running through my bones. In the flash of a second, he winked at me.

I hurry forward to open the door for Lady Mary and Lady Edith. God forbid they ever touch a door handle.

'Who was he?' Lady Edith asks archly, barely able to mask her jealousy. I daresay that she has never heard a man wish to have her all to himself and, with her innate cynicism, she has probably resigned herself to never hearing it.

'You didn't recognise the Duke of Crowborough?' Lady Mary says with mock surprise.


	2. Find me

Chapter two: Find me

Once again, I rise painfully early and drag my puffy-eyed self out of bed. Another bloody day of mind-numbing boredom. For a few seconds, I watch the bright reds of dawn run across the sky like ink, the sun inching over the chimneys. When I was little, I thought that the sun creeping up like that was a special signal for me. The sun was telling me that the shit I was living through wasn't forever. Now I'm older, and I know the sun was lying.

As usual, the Crawleys are staying with Lady Rosamund for the London season and so I'm forced to put up with savvy city staff who act like curs forced into smart clothing. I wonder idly to myself whether if I had stayed in Manchester I would have ended up in a townhouse like this. I really couldn't have stayed though, so there isn't any point in dwelling on it. I grimly set aside my whirring brain, adopt a tranquil expression, pick up the breakfast tray and go upstairs.

It's not very long before the first Crawley is down: Lord Grantham, benignly regal, takes to the table. He flicks the newspaper open in front of his lavish full-English breakfast. Lady Sybil joins him, being the only sister to be too young to come out in society and so in bed at a reasonable hour every night.

Nothing very much happens today, or at least not for me. Next to a family of such idle, elegant luxury, whose every move is important, I feel as though I'm made of paper. I often get told that I don't behave myself very well, that I indulge in too much mischief. Yes, this is probably true – living around such a family, you find yourself doing anything to feel alive, to feel important, even if it's only to yourself.

Days pass, Lady Mary and Lady Edith visit balls at which Lady Mary is always the centre of attention, and Lady Sybil entertains herself at home, most likely wishing she were old enough to join in. I can imagine that when the time comes, she'll give Lady Mary quite a run for her money. And then there's Lady Edith, sandwiched between such pretty sisters!

More days pass, more parties are attended, and I become ever more irritable with William due to lack of sleep.

'Look alive!' I sneer at him as he dawdles. He looks downcast today, possibly missing Daisy. I wonder if it would break his tiny heart if I took up with Daisy. It's something to consider, anyway.

One day, the family are invited to garden party at the house of the Earl of Dunn. Lady Sybil perks up immediately; as this is a family event, she is invited.

Dunn Manor is just outside of London, set in the most beautiful grounds. I don't really care for gardens, but even I'm bewitched by the impression that I'm in Eden. Vast seas of every sort of flower bob their heads in the gentle summer breeze and the air is filled with the tranquil sounds of birdsong and babbling brooks. I might start to like this nature thing after all.

As usual, William and I are shunted away to wait with the other servants while the family enjoy themselves. Maybe the heat is getting to me, but I risk slipping away. I know it's a foolish thing to do, but William's hardly going to tell – he's too much of a 'good boy'. I meander over to the orchard and light a cigarette, relishing the intertwining scents of apples and tobacco.

'I wasn't aware that this was a party to which footmen were invited?' a refined voice admonishes me. I snap my head to the right: it's the Duke of Crowborough, leaning against a tree in a very un-ducal repose. He's smiling and my heart quite inconveniently melts.

'Can I have one?' the Duke asks, nodding at my cigarette. It wasn't exactly what I was expecting to hear, but I numbly offer him the packet nevertheless.

We don't say anything else for a couple of minutes. This is the strangest situation I've ever been in and I daren't speak in case my voice does something annoying like tremble or squeak.

'You're Lord Grantham's footman?' he asks me eventually. He must, incredibly, remember me from the Baron of Hailsham's party.

'That's right, milord.'

'Are you enjoying London? I suppose that you find it a stark change from Yorkshire.'

'It suits me well enough, milord; I like cities,' I say.

'As do I. I do, however, like a little of the country in the form of a park or garden. This is a very charming garden indeed,' the Duke muses.

'I suppose that it is, milord,' I agree. 'I didn't expect to find this sort of garden in London, truth be told.'

'No, neither did I. Still, it's an excellent sort of garden for hiding in. I bet the Langdons were up to all sorts of games when they were little, growing up in a place like this. A wonderful place for hide and seek. I used to love playing that game when I was a boy.'

He looks at me as though expecting me to agree, but my childhood didn't really consist of games. It consisted of not being heard, of snatching food and avoiding smacks.

'I can't say that I've ever played, milord,' I admit.

The duke looks shocked and sympathetic. 'Why, that's a shame! But you simply must try it, there's nothing more thrilling!' He tilts his head to the side, caught by an idea. 'How about we play it now?'

I'm too bemused to reply. The duke immediately closes his eyes and starts counting. Not knowing what else to do, there seems to be only one thing for it: hide.

It's a tricky situation: I can't risk getting my clothes dirty or torn, but I want to find a good hiding place. With barely seconds to spare, I crawl into the disused summerhouse at the bottom of the orchard which the Langdons undoubtedly used when they were children and sit in the corner so that I can't be easily seen through the windows. It's unbearably hot. The square of sky I see through the window is an unblemished blue.

Less than a minute later, he finds me, swinging the wooden door open and beaming down at me. I laugh ruefully.

'Well-found, milord,' I say as I get to my feet, risking a small smile.

The duke shrugs. 'If I'm honest, I peeked,' he whispered.

With no other warning, he leans towards me and gently takes my face in his hands. The kiss he gives me is the softest thing in the world, sensuously tracing over my lips. My breath has disappeared: he has stolen all of it.

The duke draws back and smiles at me, still holding my face. He kisses me on the cheek before stepping back.

'I really ought to be getting back before I'm missed,' he says, biting his lower lip regretfully. 'But I'm glad I had the chance to kiss you – it's all I've wanted to do for the past fortnight.'

Somehow, I manage to find my way back to the house with my head in a daze. I have to wait outside for a few minutes before going in, wrestling my silly smile into something resembling composure. If anybody notices, I'll just have to say that the heat has made me disorientated.

'Where have you been?' William asks, frowning.

'I'm not aware that that's any of your business,' I tell him. 'If you must know, I went to stretch my legs. Not illegal, is it?'

I'm not really sure what happened for the rest of that day. I performed all my duties while barely conscious, my hands and feet thinking for themselves while my brain retreated into a hidden sanctuary to relive those brief seconds of kissing. By the end of the day, I wasn't even sure what part of the memory was real, and what I had embroidered on.

'You seem awfully quite this evening, Thomas,' Bates commented at dinner. I shrug and sneer a little.

'Tired, aren't I? It's alright for you, you don't have to chaperone the girls around until God knows when in the morning!' I wonder whether I should fake a big yawn and a stretch, but decide that that would be too obvious.

'I'd like to see all the ladies dressed up for the parties,' Amy, a housemaid, says. 'I bet Lady Mary is the prettiest there, isn't she?'

I nod. 'She turns heads alright, even dressed in mourning colours.' As if on cue, every female in the room looks wistful. In this day and age, people are more aware of what they don't have. Last century, I don't think it would have occurred to a maid to even consider desiring to be a lady, but nowadays people are daring to dream. The young boys and girls coming into service now have hopes and wishes. Sometimes, I feel a dream knocking around at the back of my head, an ambition which is almost too painfully sweet to acknowledge. It's safer not to look too high up – I'll take each rung of the ladder as it comes. Tomorrow, I'll be a valet, and I'll focus on that for now. I just need to get rid of Bates.

The nauseatingly chivalrous valet must realise that I'm looking at him, because he turns his head towards me suddenly and smiles. I haven't done anything yet to make him hate me, but I'm sure I will. I smirk back.

Fortunately, there are no balls to go to tonight, and I manage to get to bed at something resembling a reasonable hour. Sleep isn't going to be possible tonight, though. I will my brain to relax into a slumber, but I keep finding myself transported to the summerhouse, soaked in sunlight and shy passion. I wish, not for the first time, that I could talk to someone about this. Saying that, even if I had a female sweetheart, I wouldn't have been able to talk properly about it. We live in a society where our tongues are locked on issues of intimacy, and I feel left with too many things in my head.

No, it's no good: I really can't sleep. Not only am I too infatuated, but William has just started snoring at an inconsiderably loud volume. I wonder if I smothered him with a pillow it would hurt my chances of being made valet. Better not risk it.


	3. The Most Beautiful City in the World

**Okay, I'm not 100% sure about this, but I think that Thomas and the Duke would have met in London in the summer season after the Titanic sunk, so Bates would already be working here at this point. As Cousin Violet said 'give the Duke a date for when Mary's out of mourning' to come and visit, and Sybil said that they would be back in full colours in September, the Duke probably visits Downton in September. The family had a memorial up in London, so for the sake of this story, I'm assuming that they were in London for a few weeks. **

Chapter three: The most beautiful City in the World

The maids are prattling on about the entail again this morning and I find myself joining in, speculating. It's disgusting how much time we spend focused on the lives of rich people.

'It doesn't affect us anyway,' I remind myself aloud, lighting a cigarette. One of the maids (I think her name is Ellie) snorts.

'It matters to you if you want to be working at Downton in twenty years' time. Don't you want to be the butler there by then?' Ellie asks casually, raising an eyebrow in my direction. Yes, the prospect sounds deliciously tempting in some ways, but in others… so depressing. It's depressing to think that that's my only path. I can't even imagine others. What would I do if I could anything? Besides become undisputed dictator of the world? I exhale a cloud of smoke thoughtfully.

'Course I'll be butler by then,' I sneer. 'I don't reckon that Carson's got another twenty years left in him.'

'So you should be nice to whoever the new heir is!' Ellie tells me.

'I'm always nice,' I say dryly.

'Aye, you're like a smoky little bunny rabbit,' Lady Rosamund's lady's maid says sarcastically, glancing up from her sewing to grin at me.

'What do you mean, smoky? I only have the odd one or two,' I say.

She shakes her head in disbelief. 'All I can say,' she says archly, 'is that I don't know how on God's green earth your teeth are still so white with all that nasty tobacco you get through!'

I smile at her, displaying my sparkly whites, then stub my cigarette out.

'I need to get back to work,' I say.

'Don't go breaking a sweat now, will you?' Ellie mutters sweetly.

I grab the tray of iced cakes which the cook has just prepared for afternoon tea and head for the drawing room. Lady Rosamund and the girls are entertaining a young man who is perched quaintly at the end of his chair. William must have let him in.

'Ah, Thomas, could we have some more tea for Mr Vaughn,' Lady Mary asks brightly as I offer the tray around the guests.

'Certainly, milady,' I say in as subdued manner as possible. A footman should be seen and not heard. By the way, I hate being a footman.

When I arrive back upstairs with fresh tea, the conversation is in full flow about the dinner party arranged here tomorrow evening. It was intended to be a small affair, but I quickly gather that there will be more people coming than originally intended.

'…and Sir Philip is pleased to be able to come, although he's disappointed that his trip to Turkey was cancelled. He was very much looking forward to seeing the country,' Lady Mary informs everyone grandly. Mr Vaughn is nodding seriously, leaning forward off his chair as he hangs on to every word. Evidently, he's another suitor who's come to dote foolishly on Lady Mary.

'Why was his trip cancelled?' Lady Sybil asks breathily.

'Oh, some sort of unrest or other,' Lady Mary dismisses. 'We'll probably hear no more of it. Anyway, now that Miss Day and the Duke of Crowborough have also decided to come, we'll have three extra people to cater for – Thomas, are you quite alright?'

'Yes, milady, I just had- had a crick in my neck,' I lie easily.

Half a year later, it is tomorrow evening. The doorbell rings and William heads over to answer it.

'I'll get the door!' I snarl, pushing him aside stealthily.

The Duke is the last of the guests to arrive. His eyes bore into mine for a little too long as I hold the door open for him, appeasing my worries that he would act as though nothing has happened. If anything, he is being a little obvious, considering that there are other people about, and he brushes his hand against mine with minimal discretion as I hold out a tray of canapés. I suppose being richer than some small countries instils in you a confidence to do whatever you damn please.

As I circle the table, I catch fragments of different conversations between guests.

'Are you enjoying your first season, Lady Edith?' Sir Philip asks her politely.

'Oh, yes, it's even more magical than I could have imagined! I'm sure this must be the most wonderful city in the world,' Lady Edith enthuses.

'You've never seen another city, Edith,' Lady Mary reminds from across the table cuttingly. 'York barely counts, it has a population of a hundred thousand.'

Lady Edith spears Lady Mary with an especially poisoned look to which her sister is completely impervious.

'You're not wrong, however,' the Duke tells Lady Edith. 'I've seen dozens of capitals and London is by far the finest.'

Lady Mary turns herself to face him, smiling as she gets ready to flirt shamelessly. 'Perhaps, but wouldn't you admit that we are too biased to judge?'

I'm offering Lady Mary a plate of scallops when the Duke answers: 'There's no such thing as bias in matters of beauty. My heart tells me what I admire.' He is directing the statement to Lady Mary, but I am standing so close to her that his eyes can flick over to mine without being very obvious about it. I hope to God that I'm not blushing.

Too soon, the guests head for the drawing room and William and I go downstairs for our dinner.

'You two must be starving!' the cook tells us. Most of the others have finished eating already and are either chatting idly or reading. Ellie is immersed in a penny dreadful, her face gradually getting closer and closer to the page until her nose is nearly touching the paper.

'You'll strain your eyes reading like that,' Bates tells her. 'Hold the book further away from you and put it closer to the candle.'

Ellie smiles back. 'I know – I get closer without realising what I'm doing! This is the most exciting book I've ever read!'

'Those novels will rot your brains, they will!' Lady Rosamund's maid predicts darkly. 'Full of romance and nonsense which stops you girls thinking straight.'

'Oh, but it won't,' Ellie argues. She is, unfortunately, the kind of person who can't resist telling all and sundry about the book she's reading in great detail, whether they have any interest in it or not. 'There's this beautiful young maid, you see, and she goes to work in the house of a Duke who's so kind and handsome that she can't help but fall madly in love with him-'

'That sounds like a load of nonsense,' I cut her off.

'I think it sounds like a lovely story,' William disagrees, looking even more sentimental than usual. I should have realised that he was the sort of simpleton who enjoyed that kind of rubbish and I cast him a sideways glance of profound judgement. 'Does he fall in love back?'

'I don't know yet,' Ellie says. 'But they've been spending a lot of time together and I think he might. Wouldn't that just be the most wonderful thing to happen?' She and the other young maids look dreamily skyward, as though their own personal Duke is floating above their heads.

Some of the guests are anxious to leave by the time that William and I head back upstairs. Sir Philip and Miss Day both look tired and are eager to be shown out, while some of the other guests look as though the night is still young. Mr Vaughn is drinking as slowly as possible in an obvious attempt to prolong his conversation with Lady Mary. Eventually, of course, it gets late enough for Lady Rosamund to insist that the remaining guests stay the night rather than travel back at such a late hour. After a tiny amount of polite protest, Mr Vaughn and the Duke agree.

'Of course, I didn't bring my valet,' the Duke says with an apologetic smile. 'I didn't foresee staying the night.'

'Nor I,' Mr Vaughn says ruefully.

'Thomas, William, you don't mind, do you?' Lord Grantham asks airily. It's one of those ridiculously rhetorical questions that employers ask when you have no real choice in the matter. In this instance, it happens that I don't mind at all.

'Certainly not, Sir, we would be happy to assist,' I say respectfully.

'Excellent! Thomas, you can look after Mr Vaughn and William can look after his lordship the Duke.' It takes every ounce of strength in me to stop the disappointment from showing on my face.

Not much later, the household retreats to bed. Mr Vaughn and the Duke both leave the room and we escort them to the east wing.

'I must say, it's excellent to see you, William,' Mr Vaughn tells him warmly. 'Are your parents well?'

'Yes, very well, thank you,' William replies. I am utterly confused.

'I suppose they're incredibly proud of you working for Lord Grantham. Your mother always said that she dreamt of you being a footman,' Mr Vaughn continues.

'Pleased as punch, sir,' William says with a small smile.

'My father is the landlord of William's parents up in Yorkshire,' Mr Vaughn tells the Duke by way of explanation.

'How charming,' the Duke says politely.

Like a cat waiting patiently in the long grass, I seize this opportunity. 'Perhaps, Sir, you would prefer having William to take care of you this evening, seeing as you know him so well?'

'Yes, that's a good idea,' Mr Vaughn says happily.

As soon as we have parted ways with them, the Duke raises an impressed eyebrow.

'Sneaky little thing, aren't you?' he says. He then turns and heads to his room, and I feel myself pulled along in his wake.

Inside, I decide that maybe it's better if I make a show of acting the valet, and reach for his jacket. I never get there. His hands ensnare mine and he kisses me with so much force that I have to step back until I'm pressed against the wall.

'Finally!' he breathes in my ear; my skin tingles under his jagged whisper. 'I thought that they'd never ask me to stay the night.' His almost-violent passion softens slightly, and his hands run through my hair.

I'm still not entirely sure what to do. He is, at the end of the day, a duke, a man a thousand times more powerful than I am. I can't quite convince myself that I'm allowed to touch him any more than I would be allowed to make off with a pocketful of Grantham's gold.

'Relax!' the Duke asks, pleading with his appealing eyes. He reaches down to pull my hand to his lips and kisses it all over before putting it around his waist. 'Touch me, I don't bite!' He can't help but grin wickedly. 'Unless you ask, anyway!'

He couldn't have said anything more tempting.

We undress each other quickly – well, I undress him quickly, but he has a bit more difficulty undoing my buttons. I can't help but laugh at the look of deep concentration on his face. He glances up sheepishly.

'Is it obvious that I don't do this very often?' he asks with a mock sigh. I go to help him with the rest of the buttons but he slaps my hand away.

'I think not!' he says sternly. 'You're my present to unwrap!'

Fully unwrapped, I pull him down on to the bed with me, limbs an uncoordinated jumble.

'I'm sorry, darling,' he whispers, leaning over me.

'Why?' I ask. For a brief, horrified second, I wonder whether he's changed his mind and wants me to leave.

'You're going to be so tired tomorrow!'


	4. We Ride at Midmorning

Chapter four: We Ride at Mid-morning

I'm woken up by William prodding my upper arm gently. I manage to pry my eyes open so that I can glare at him.

'We need to get up,' he whispers. 'It's six o'clock.'

'I know,' I groan. Despite the Duke's coy pleas to sleep the night in his bed, I came back here last night, knowing full well that if I stayed any longer I would never wake up in time. I also trusted the fact that even if I didn't wake naturally, at least I could count on William waking me, which he just has. It's a shame I probably wouldn't have returned the favour.

'Why are you so tired?' William asks as he starts getting dressed. It's fairly obvious from the casual nonchalance with which he undresses that he's one of the few members of Downton Abbey's staff who has yet to realise my sexual preference.

'That bloody idiot kept me until the early hours asking me questions about Lady Mary,' I tell him, stifling a yawn and pulling off my own pyjama top. 'Wanted to get all the inside information so that he had a better chance of wooing her, didn't he?' I mutter. I refuse to let any images from last night start replaying in my head, because I know I'll start smiling to myself.

'Blimey,' William mumbles, 'he must have kept you ages because I was fast asleep by the time you got back. He must really like Lady Mary.'

'Looks like it, doesn't it,' I say. 'Come on, we better hurry.'

The cook is already up and busy by the time we get downstairs, steaming up the kitchen.

'There's strong tea over there for you, boys,' she tells us with a nod to the kitchen table, wiping the steam off her forehead with the back of her hand. I gratefully gulp down the bitter, treacle-coloured tea, willing it to wake me up faster. I wish I had time for a cigarette, but William and I need to get to work straight away.

It isn't until half past ten that I have time for my morning smoke. I stand outside in the cool summer drizzle which coats my skin like tiny diamonds and I smoke my cares away. With a minute to myself, I open my drawer of memories and remember with relish the taste of the Duke's skin and the dark hair on his chest which paved a trail down his stomach. His lips, port-flavoured from dinner, danced with mine before settling on my shoulder and biting hard. My hand reaches instinctively to touch the spot, which is tenderly bruised, spiking with sensitivity as I brush against it like a living memento. Like a foolish maiden from one of Ellie's novels, I sigh whimsically.

'Those things can't be good for you,' Ellie tells me sternly as she comes outside to empty the kitchen bin.

'You don't know what you're talking about,' I tell her lazily. 'Dr Clarkson says there's nothing better than a cigarette for keeping a man warm.'

'Believe what you want,' Ellie says, waving her hand to disperse my smoke. 'My father smoked and nobody coughed and spluttered more than he did. Fills your lungs with ash, it does.'

'I think I'd rather believe a doctor's sound advice than an old wives' tale,' I tell her disparagingly. 'Besides, us lot don't have many pleasures to live for.'

She shakes her head, right hand glued jauntily on to her hip.

'Thomas, something tells me you're the sort of man who makes the most of any pleasure that'll come his way!'

'Nothing wrong with that, man!' I snigger, blowing my last breath of smoke away and stubbing the cigarette out on the brick wall. Time to get back to the real world.

We always have luncheon early down in the servants' hall so that we're ready to serve the family theirs in time. I welcome the warm chicken stew after a busy morning.

'Nice to sit down for a second,' I say.

The kitchen maid next to me snorts like a jumpy mare. 'I don't know what you have to complain about. Footmen barely have to lift a finger! All you have to do is carry a tray and look handsome.' Although I would never admit it to her, it's pretty accurate to say that we have an easy ride a lot of the time, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

'I'll have you know that looking handsome isn't as easy as it seems. If it were, you'd all be doing it,' I tell her.

'Cheeky sod!' Ellie mutters from opposite me and I give her a wink.

'Language, Ellie!' the housekeeper explodes immediately. 'You do _not_ live in the gutter any longer, and I'll thank you to remember that!'

'Sorry, Mrs Smith,' Ellie says with the appropriate amount of meekness.

'By the way, Thomas,' Bates says suddenly. 'His lordship is going to Thetford Park in two days' time. Sir John Perry is holding a hunting party, and you and I are to accompany him. His lordship asked that I inform you.'

I dip my head to acknowledge what he has said. It seems fairly strange that I should go. Taking Bates would make sense as he's his lordship's valet, but I don't understand why I would need to go as well.

'Why am I going, do you think?' I address Bates without looking at him directly. I want to make my hostility perfectly clear.

'Sir Perry doesn't have a sufficient number of footmen to accommodate such a party and so his lordship offered to bring you,' Bates says with his usual unnerving calm.

'Sounds exciting,' I ponder aloud. 'I've never been to Norfolk before. The rest of the family aren't going, then?'

'No, it's just for the gentlemen.'

I wonder whether my Duke will be going and whether I could possibly ask while remaining casual. I decide to rein in my curiosity and wait and see.

It's now night time and, for once, the house has retreated to bed at a reasonable hour. Even the staff seem to have turned in early so that by eleven o'clock I feel like the only person up. I head to the kitchen for one last cigarette before bed, and I find Ellie at the kitchen table, reading again.

'You read too much,' I criticise.

'You smoke too much,' she counters without missing a beat, hand propping up her face as her eyes glide over the words.

Because she's so deeply immersed in the book, I don't feel obliged to make conversation, so I enjoy my own silence for a bit. The house feels deliciously eerie being so quiet.

'Why aren't you in bed, anyway?' Ellie asks me after a few minutes.

'Not tired,' I reply succinctly. 'I go to bed late every night, so I can't ever get to sleep early now. I'd just be staring at the ceiling and throwing things at William until he stopped snoring. What's your excuse? You can only just keep your eyes open!'

She smiles sheepishly. 'I just have to finish this book. I only have a few pages left and I won't sleep a wink if I don't finish it now.'

'Is the book really that good?' I ask, incredulous.

'Well,' she shrugs. 'It's not _good_ really, you know? It isn't well-written, like. But it makes my heart beat awful fast, and that's good. It's a 'dreams come true' book. There's not much hope of finding love in service, so it's nice to pretend sometimes.'

'Suppose so,' I agree. 'You could always leave service, though. Pretty little thing like you would find a man easily if she wanted.'

'Maybe,' she smiles. 'Maybe if there weren't so many pretty little things and so few decent and available men. No, I'm safe here. Now, be quiet while I finish my book!'

It was an interesting thing to think about. Of course, I'd realised fairly early on that I would never marry, and so that sort of thing didn't concern me. I'd never deluded myself that even if I found someone that I loved so much that I couldn't breathe without him, he would never truly be mine. Not the way that people belong together in novels.

Ellie heaves a mighty sigh and closes her book, standing up from the table.

'Did she get him?' I ask.

'It's a love story,' Ellie laughs before disappearing upstairs. 'Of course she got him. Goodnight.'

For some reason, we have to leave for Thetford Park at six in the morning. I'm sure that the ride up there is actually lovely, but I'm too grouchy at the moment to appreciate it.

'I don't see why they had to drag us out of bed at cockcrow,' I grumble to Bates. 'Civilised people start journeys at noon.'

'Stop complaining,' Bates says. He's sitting next to me in the second-class carriage, staring out the window.

'I'm not complaining, I'm just _saying_ that I don't see the point.'

Jones, Sir Philip's valet, is sitting opposite Bates and asks him grouchily:

'Does this one always moan this much?'

'I'm afraid so,' Bates answers regretfully. I refrain from sinking to their level and retorting. Besides, I need to conserve my energy if I'm going to have to put up with Bates for the next few days.

We arrive at Thetford House just before ten and we are greeted by Sir John Perry's son, Master Eric Perry, who rushes out to greet Lord Grantham and Sir Philip enthusiastically, pumping their hands with distinctly un-English vigour. Master Perry is a fresh-faced, bright-eyed lad in his early twenties who gives the impression that nothing bad has ever happened which could possibly dim his brimming optimism.

'Welcome to Thetford,' Master Perry grins, his sandy hair falling a little messily on his face. He has probably already been out riding this morning. As Jones and I start unstrapping the luggage from the car and Bates stands there doing bugger all, Master Perry takes the gentlemen through the front door, apologising for his untidiness.

Thetford House is slightly smaller and slightly older than Downton Abbey, but it is very much the same type of establishment. One of the footmen here, who introduces himself as Edward, shows us where to take the luggage, requesting that we head down to the kitchen as soon as everything is settled.

The room Lord Grantham has been given overlooks the pine forest which makes up part of the grounds. I take a second to pause and admire the view before making my way to the kitchen, leaving Bates to put away his lordship's things.

Within the first minute of being in kitchen, I gather that it's a stern household which doesn't take kindly to jokes and smiles. The butler doesn't acknowledge my presence as anything out of the ordinary, and rattles out orders regarding how things will run tonight.

'As tonight will be the first night here for our guests, it shall be a grand affair, surpassed only by their final night. It shall be perfect,' he threatens rather than predicts. I suppose that any footman appearing in the dining room with a loose thread on his hem will be shot at dawn.

The gentlemen arrive back from their hunt in the afternoon, and Edward and I glide outside with refreshments. My heart races when I see my Duke canter up on an Andalusian stallion, looking like a seductive rogue whilst still retaining aristocratic elegance.

'That really is a magnificent creature you're riding, your Grace,' one of the riders calls admiringly.

'Yes, I know,' my Duke says, catching my eye through the crowd of horses and grooms and footmen. 'I was getting rather tired of our elegant Thoroughbreds and decided to ride something a bit more rough and exciting.' I'm seized by the urge to climb up on the horse with him and demand we ride off into the sunset, but I manage to control myself. There would be many flaws in that plan, not least the fact that sunset isn't for several hours.

Dinner that night is just as sumptuous and indulgent an affair as the butler had foreseen. There are four of us serving the table, and we're all rushed off our feet, glad to get downstairs by the end of the night. There's not much joy down here, though, and I find myself missing William banging out a jaunty tune.

'Now,' the butler starts self-importantly. 'Two footmen will have to act as valets to two of our guests: the Duke of Crowborough and Mr Swainson.'

'I've acted as valet to the Duke before, Mr Evans,' I interrupt automatically. The butler's eyes narrow and he draws himself up half an inch higher.

'_I_, Thomas, shall decide on the footmen's duties, not you,' he says.

'Sorry, Mr Evans, I meant no disrespect,' I mutter quickly, eyes dropping to the kitchen tiles. Glancing up, I see he looks mollified.

'However, you might as well take his Grace, and Edward will take care of Mr Swainson.'

I'm counting down the seconds until the party decides to go to bed. They're all in high-spirits after a successful hunt and it's nearly midnight before the gentlemen decide to turn in.

I lead my Duke to the bedroom he's been designated, trying to look calm and collected. Just outside the door, he suddenly whispers:

'Wait!'

'What is it?' I ask.

He glances about him surreptitiously. Seeing that we are alone in the corridor, he kisses me passionately, a hand on the back of my neck.

'You're mad!' I say softly. 'We could be seen – if someone walked past right now!'

'I know,' he says, moving to kiss my neck. 'Isn't it exciting?'

I manage to coax him inside, reminding him that a brief moment of delirious passion isn't quite worth going to jail over. Safely in the bedroom, he pins me to the wall, his fingers gliding slowly down my shirt and towards my trousers.

'You're staying with me all night tonight, whether you like it or not,' he tells me sweetly, playing with my waistband.

'But if I'm missed-' I begin, and he silences me with his lips.

'You won't be missed,' he mutters. 'I've paid Evans a lot of money to conveniently overlook your absence tomorrow morning.'

I can't help laughing: he's as conniving as I am. He laughs back and kisses me on the cheek with almost chaste daintiness before sinking to his knees, looking up at me with the cheekiest of grins.


	5. A Clockwork Heart

Chapter five: A Clockwork Heart

I wake up in the softest bed in the entire world. I have never been this comfortable before in my life. My duke is already awake, leaning on his elbow on his side like he's posing for a life painting.

'You have an adorable snore,' he says.

'I don't snore,' I respond defensively.

'Only a tiny bit,' he grins. 'It's endearing, like a purring cat.'

I decide to put aside my horror over learning that I'm a snorer and kiss him.

'I've never slept in a bed like this before,' I sigh as he wraps his arms around me and nuzzles my neck. He laughs.

'I suppose you wouldn't have. I expect the beds you're used to could be used to flip coins off,' he teases.

'That's right, milord,' I agree.

'It's George,' he says in a barely audible whisper. I look at him in surprise, hardly able to believe that he's suggesting what I think he's suggesting. 'Call me George,' he repeats, more determined this time. This seems more scandalous than anything else we've done.

'All right, George,' I say, taken aback by my own daring.

This part is completely new for me – this 'waking up in the morning' part. The intimacy seems rawer and more intense now, because it isn't being clouded by lust. I know that the safety of so many quilts is an illusion, but I feel more protected than I ever have in my life. At this moment, I doubt the world outside these four walls even exists any more.

'You still carry a little bit of wariness about you,' the Duke says softly, looking into my eyes, studying me. 'Did you realise? You've relaxed a lot since the first time I kissed you, but I still feel as though you're holding back. Why is that? Is it because of our respective social positions?'

I make a non-committal sound. I'm not sure whether I'm able to talk about this. 'It's not that, or at least not just that.'

'You've been hurt in the past,' he guesses, squeezing me more tightly and kissing my shoulder.

'Well, it's not an easy life we have, is it? Things are bound to get complicated.' I hate myself for having to bring realism into our safe haven of soft pillows and softer kisses, but now that the subject is there, it can't be ignored.

'I don't like complications,' George says airily. Even using my name in his head feels thrillingly illicit.

'Yes, but you're going to have to marry, aren't you? You'll need an heir, and heirs can't be ordered through the post. You'll have to make one yourself and you'll need a wife to do it,' I remind, doing my best not to picture the Duke standing at the altar with Lady Mary, looking infuriatingly beautiful. Lady Mary wouldn't look too bad either.

He sighs. 'Yes, I'm aware of how heirs are made, thank you,' he says a little sulkily. He then looks regretful. 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you, it's just that my mother has already started scouting out all the eligible young ladies in the Western Hemisphere. Anyway, enough of that and back to you. Tell me about this heart-breaking bastard from your mysterious past. Please tell me he was ugly or I'll be frightfully jealous.'

I take a deep breath as I prepare myself to talk about it. The worry must be registering on my face.

'What is it?' George urges. 'Don't you trust me? We broke the law together three times last night, surely you must trust me!'

I laugh. 'It isn't that. It's just that I haven't thought about him for a very, very long time. A lot of bad things happened and it's going to hurt to dredge it all up.'

'Take your time,' he whispers soothingly. 'We've got all the time in the world. Evans has told the others that I'm dreadfully ill and need to rest all day.'

I grew up in Manchester, the eldest son of a clockmaker, and it was always assumed that I would take over the family business when my father became too old. I'd never minded having my career decided for me because I enjoyed helping my father in the workshop and, as soon as I left school at eleven, I started working there full time. It was much better than what the other boys my age were doing and several of my friends had suffered injuries in the factories, the mines or as chimney sweeps. A clockmaker seemed a pretty nice thing to be in comparison.

Our family was lucky, because the business did well and we had a good reputation in the area. The shop did so well that my father decided to take on an apprentice to give us an extra hand, because my next youngest brother was only eight at the time. I was fifteen when Michael came to work for us. He was a tall, well-built lad of my age who had been working as a chimney sweep, but had been longing to learn a real trade. As he was from our area, my father knew his parents and trusted that Michael was a hard worker of good character.

On his first day, he greeted me with a dazzling grin and shook my hand warmly. His hand was larger and rougher than mine, and his deep tan made my skin seem paler than ever. He launched happily into a spiel about how happy he was to be working here, and I did my best not to stare at his lips as he spoke.

He wasn't the most naturally skilled clockmaker, but he tried hard and picked up everything in the end. Besides, what he lacked in finesse, he made up for with motivation and excellent customer service. There was hardly anyone who didn't leave our shop with a spring in their step, having caught Michael's cheerfulness.

'You're doing well, boy,' my father said approvingly to Michael at the end of his first week. Michael beamed proudly at him. The three of us were working late, straining to see the cogs under the candlelight. My father was not an old man, but his eyes were beginning to fail him a little and I noticed how much more he squinted now than he used to.

'I suppose you two were in the same class in school,' my father said conversationally.

'Yes, we were, but it was a pretty big class,' Michael answered, meeting my eyes and smiling. I only vaguely recollected him from school: he had grown more than a foot in height, his weight had probably doubled since then and his golden brown hair had darkened quite a bit. Besides, we had never been in the same group of mates.

We became good friends over the next few weeks. He learnt not to take my dark sarcasm too seriously, and some of his happy optimism started to rub off on me. I couldn't have been happier in his company and we spent nearly every minute together, often going down the park to play football with the other boys after church on Sunday.

I knew exactly how I felt about him, but hadn't a clue what I was supposed to do about it. For years, I had suspected that I wasn't the same as my friends. They would fall over each other to catch a glimpse of a girl changing through a crack in the wall, but I couldn't have been less interested. It wasn't until I was about thirteen, when a few of us had gone swimming in the river on a hot summer's day, that I realised why exactly I wasn't interested in girls. One of the older boys had stripped off before being the first to plunge in; a fine gleam of sweat coated his muscles and his chest was slightly hairy, and all of a sudden I _knew_.

Before I'd met Michael, my unusual fascination had been abstract and easy to ignore. Yes, I could look if I had half the chance, but there was never an opportunity to do anything else. Besides, I didn't really know what 'anything else' was. Any fantasies I had usually involved just looking.

As the weeks turned to months, my father, who had warmed to Michael at first, began to cool inexplicably. Nothing Michael ever did seemed to be good enough, and my heart broke every time I saw his expression of hurt disappointment. It became clear that Michael would be let go as soon as his apprenticeship was up.

'It'll be better when he's gone,' my father told me gruffly over dinner one evening. My sister, Deb, had an unexplained sly look on her face which never boded well.

'Why will it be better?' I demanded. 'I thought you liked him?'

'I thought I did at first, but people talk, son. This is a tight-knit community, and tongues like to wag. It's best for you not to have too much to do with him, or you'll be tarred with the same brush!'

I had no idea what he was talking about, but Deb smirked mockingly at me. I had the distinct impression that I was being made a fool of, but I wasn't sure how. I finished my dinner in sulky silence.

Sure enough, my father let Michael know that his services would no longer be required after the end of the month, but he would be given a good reference. Although he was expecting it, it was still a hard blow for Michael.

'I just don't understand it!' he told me in frustration one evening. It was his last week with us, and it was just Michael and me in the workshop. My father had gone out to buy more spare parts, and we were fixing some old clocks which had been brought in for repair.

'Me neither,' I said glumly. I was already grieving his absence, unable to imagine how things would go on once he'd left.

'Things started out so well!' he sighed. He then shook his head, seeming to try and shake off his gloom. 'Oh well, there's no use crying over spilled milk. I just wasn't the right sort of person to work here, that's all!' he said brightly.

'I wish you could stay,' I mumbled, putting down the cog I was cleaning to look at him. 'I'll miss you.'

'I know,' he smiled. 'I'll miss you like anything , too. At least there'll be Sunday football to look forward to!' he consoled. The thought of seeing him only once a week was terrible, like a prince with all the riches in the land being demoted to a pauper.

'Hey! Cheer up,' Michael said kindly, reaching over the table to hold my hand. 'Your face is longer than a carthorse's!' We both looked down at our entwined hands with shocked bewilderment. It was the first time that anything physical had happened between us, not counting platonic thumps on the backs. My skin was alive with a tingling energy and, not pausing to think or rationalise or consider consequences, I moved closer to him and leant forward to kiss him. For the first time in my life, everything made complete sense. It was a sweet, shy kiss, and I could tell by his eyes that he was just as overwhelmed by it as I was. Then, his tender nervousness turned to absolute terror, but before I could wonder why, I was jerked powerfully backwards.

My father had grabbed me by the back of my shirt, and then he slammed me against the wall. Michael might have been taller and possibly stronger than my father, but caught completely off-guard, he wasn't thinking about defending himself. My father lunged at him and punched him hard. Michael reeled backwards and fell against the table.

Finally, I started to react, and I scrambled forward to pull my father off Michael, but he was like a madman.

'Get out!' he howled suddenly, pointing a shaking finger towards the door. 'Get out, and if you come back I'll kill you!'

'Dad!' I pleaded. He turned and looked at me with unveiled contempt.

'That goes for you, too! I raised _godly _children, and I'll have none of that _unnaturalness _in my family!' He calmed his breathing a little, but the indifferent voice which he used next was worse than the shouting. 'You're no son of mine, remember that. You'll not ever be welcomed back into our home.'

Michael and I left shaking, and we sat down on the church steps, not knowing what else to do. With tear-stained faces, we apologised for ruining each other's lives.

'What now?' I asked bleakly and he shrugged.

'London, maybe? America?' he suggested. 'Anywhere that isn't Manchester. I don't much fancy having rotten food thrown at me every other day.'

'Yeah, anywhere sounds nice,' I agreed. Under cover of complete darkness, I felt safe holding his hand.

At around two in the morning, a couple of painted harlots strutted along the square and made a beeline for us.

'Hey, good-looking, got a bob to spare on a good time?' one of them asks me with wink and a flutter of her lashes.

'No, look, it won't do no good, Betty,' the other one giggled, pointing at our joined hands. 'Them two only has eyes for each other. Wouldn't know what to do with a pair of boobies if they had 'em!'

Betty shrieked with laughter.

'Worth a shot, wasn't it, Madge? You sure that I can't tempt you boys?' she teased with a shake of her hips. We both shook our heads.

'Ah, well, better luck next time, eh, Madge! Have a good time, boys,' she called as the two of them disappeared down a dark alley. 'See you in hell one day, eh!'

I laughed dully. 'I suppose she's right.'

'Don't listen to them.' Michael said fiercely. 'Don't listen to anything that anyone says, because I know, I _know_, that being in love with you is the most natural thing in the world. And I will stand proudly at the gates of heaven and tell St Peter that.' He smiled at me, but it turned into a wince.

'What's wrong?' I demanded.

'Nothing,' he said uneasily. 'It's just a headache. It's been getting worse, but I'm sure it's nothing. Probably stress,' he joked, touching the back of his head gingerly. He winced again sharply and I grabbed his hand. It was bloody.

'Why is your head bleeding?' I asked in a constricted voice.

He looked pale. 'When your dad punched me, I fell and my head hit the corner of the table. I- I don't worry about me, I'll be as right as rain in the morning.'

I shook my head. 'You need to see a doctor.'

The hospital was a long walk away, and I noticed that Michael was walking more and more slowly, and looking paler with every step. Dawn was starting to creep into the horizon and people were coming out to start work.

Eventually, we got to the hospital. The emergency room was packed to bursting with squalling babies and children from the factories holding their own fingers.

'My friend has knocked his head!' I told one of the nurses frantically.

'He'll have to wait his turn,' she said curtly.

Michael's face was ashen and his eyes were starting to droop closed.

'But he's badly hurt!' I begged.

'Everyone is badly hurt,' she said.

I tried to keep him awake and talking, but he was drifting away from me. Eventually, his eyes closed and wouldn't open. I'm not sure whether it was the actual knock to the head or the loss of blood which killed him, but he was dead by the time the doctor was ready for him. Horrified, I clutched his body as the doctor said something dispassionate about the morgue. Surrounded by so many people, I never got the chance to tell him I loved him.

'Would you like a cup of tea, dear?' one of the nurses asked me kindly, a different one to whom I had spoken earlier. I stared at her, dazed, not really understanding the question. She took my arm gently, and led me away from Michael. I never saw what happened to the body, and I don't think there was a funeral. A few days later, I left Manchester with nothing but the clothes I was wearing and a single penny in my pocket.

I looked down at my penny thoughtfully. Heads north, tails south, I told myself, and flicked the coin high in the air. The king's head landed in my palm, and so I headed north.

'So there it is,' I tell George. It all happened so long ago that it barely feels like it's my story anymore. I certainly don't feel like the same person as that naïve boy who left Manchester.

George doesn't say anything for a while.

'I'm sorry that happened to you,' he says eventually, hopelessly.


	6. Blind Eyes

Kissing my duke goodbye (George, I remind myself), I head down to the kitchen just in time for dinner.

'You're looking much better all of a sudden,' Bates says a little sardonically as soon as I sit down. I'm absolutely starving and grab three bread rolls at once. The scrawny, mousey-haired head housemaid glowers from across the table, evidently thinking that I'm taking liberties. I blithely ignore her and help myself to a big wad of butter.

'Yes, must have been one of those twenty-four hour bugs,' I dismiss, staring directly at him and hopefully calling his bluff. He knows nothing, I remind myself, and even if he does know, he has no proof. 'Thanks for the concern.'

'Well, get that down you!' the cook says as she scoops stew into my bowl. 'Keep your strength up, eh!' I can't help feeling as though all is well with the world. Of course, admitting that all is well with the world is the last thing you do, no matter how happy you happen to be feeling, because it will be at precisely that moment that The Fates will tie your life into a complicated knot that you can't untangle.

I serve at dinner that evening, and George catches my eye and winks as I enter with the first silver platter of food. My heart flutters. I'm being silly, but then again, it's been so long since I've had anyone to act silly about.

'I'm glad you're feeling better, your Grace,' Master Perry says enthusiastically, beaming as usual. Unreasonably, I feel a sharp pang of jealously as the boy's eyes fall on George and I need to remind myself that he's only grinning so brightly at George because that's how he looks at everyone. I overheard one of the other servants say earlier that Master Perry ought to be used to defuse military conflicts, such is his amicability.

'I hope you feel well enough to accompany us hunting tomorrow?' Sir Philip laughs.

'I'm itching to get back in the saddle,' George exudes happily, looking as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as the fox they'll be hunting down tomorrow.

The gentlemen need to be woken up early for their hunting trip; I awake George in a fairly unorthodox way. He giggles sleepily and tugs me up to his face so that we're lying side by side.

'You need to get ready,' I breathe. 'Don't you want to go riding?'

He laughs again and bites my lower lip before exploring my mouth with his tongue. 'Of course, I just haven't decided what I want to ride yet.'

I pull myself away from him with immense difficulty and run his bath. Eventually, he sighs a defeat and plods into the bathroom to join me. I try not to stare as he allows his night clothes to fall to the floor. If I get too worked up now, it'll take me bloody ages to calm myself down again. George must know what I'm thinking; he glances back over his defined shoulder and smirks at me.

'I'm afraid I'm still feeling rather weak from my illness, Thomas,' he says with mock sorrow. 'Would you be so kind as to help me bathe?'

Miraculously, George is only a few minutes late to meet the others.

'What kept you?' Sir Perry roared, but he was smiling all the same. 'We thought you'd keeled over again!'

'Oh, you know how vain I can be, Sir Perry!' George says self-mockingly. 'I couldn't stop myself fussing about with my hair. Terribly sorry, gentlemen.'

I head down to the kitchen after they've ridden away, the song of the bugle resonating through the summer air. I'm looking forward to my first smoke, but the mousey head housemaid starts squawking as soon as I enter.

'There's a list as long as my arm of things that need to be done,' she crows evilly, her finger pointing in my direction, 'and that lazy so-and-so ain't done a jot. Thinks you got a free ride, is it?' She turns to Mr Evans beseechingly, clearly hoping I'll be whipped bloody.

I'm outraged by her flagrant exaggeration.

'I've been on my bloody deathbed!' I snarl.

'Language, Thomas!' Mr Evans barks automatically. 'And Kathy, there's no need to point fingers. We all get ill, and it was only the one day. I'm sure that Thomas is very eager to make up for the inconvenience.' I'm rather less than eager, but I can hardly say anything. I sulkily stow my cigarette away and carry out the work I'm assigned. I coolly note that Kathy is a sour bitch. Now, I have nothing against nasty women, but I like them to be on my side.

'Don't worry about Kathy,' one of the other footmen tells me as we move the living room furniture so that the housemaids can clean behind it. 'She's horrible to everyone. It's her only amusement in life.' I smile politely.

By this point, I would walk over a carpet of broken glass with bare feet if there was a cigarette waiting on the other end for me. With the atmosphere in the house being a bit tense, I suppose I better ask Mr Evans' permission before taking a break, so I head down to his office.

Someone else is already in there, the door slightly ajar. I strain my ears to recognise the voice and guess that it's Edward, the head footman.

'She's being awkward again!' Edward complains in a hissed whisper.

'I realise that, but we knew that her temper would flare up like this, and we knew that we would have to cope with it. It's inconvenient, but it won't be a problem!' Mr Evans' voice is dangerous. He's warning Edward in no uncertain terms that he isn't to push the matter.

'But what if she says something? I know that she's got a habit of letting her tongue run off on its own accord, and she could easily go too far.'

'She won't,' Mr Evans says firmly. 'She knows the repercussions of letting the cat out of the bag. It's one thing for it to happen, but having it out in the open is another thing altogether. People don't _want_ to acknowledge something like this, they want to turn a blind eye, and she knows that.'

I step gently backward, not wanting them to realise that I'm there. After a few seconds of strained silence, I clop my feet heavily on the floor as though I'm just arriving. Mr Evans jerks the door open fiercely before I have a chance to knock.

'Hello, Mr Evans, I was just wondering whether I could step outside for a minute for some fresh air?' I ask pleasantly.

'Ah, yes, that will be fine,' he says gruffly, then shuts the door properly.

Out in the courtyard, I need the help of the cigarette smoke so that I can think properly, analyse their words. I look up and the colour of the sky is dizzying, blue enough to shake the non-essential thoughts out of my head. They had to be talking about Kathy, who was certainly being awkward. Edward thought she was on the brink of letting something spill. What? A cold shiver ripples through me. Did they mean my relationship with George? Mr Evans definitely knows about it and the others may well have guessed. It's also the sort of thing which people are willing to let go as long as it's kept safely in the dark. Partially because, I think with savage anger, I'm just a footman. I'm more of a plaything than a man to most of those upper-class bastards.

'I think you've just about fumigated yourself enough,' Edwards says suddenly, his head popping out the door to speak to me.

I smile bitterly. He's wrong. There won't ever be enough.

I've been back in the kitchen for several minutes, but I'm so wrapped up in myself that I don't notice the jitteriness in here straight away. The whole room is alive with whispers and frightened glances.

'What's happening?' I ask suspiciously.

'It's that Duke of Crowborough,' one of the kitchen maids says, eyes wide. 'He ain't come back. The others lost him and thought that he would meet them back here, but his horse just arrived back now without him. Most likely, he's lying in a ditch or something!' I want to break her legs for suggesting it.

'Enough of that!' Mr Evans grumbles, striding into the room. 'We're organising a search party. All male staff are to come upstairs immediately!'

I'm the first out of the room, taking the stairs two at a time, anything to help find him faster.


	7. The Twist in the Tale

Chapter Seven

In the courtyard, Master Perry is holding the Andalusian by the reins. The magnificent beast tosses his mane of black silk and rears on to his hind legs, snorting.

'Easy, boy, easy!' Master Perry urges soothingly, his voice placating the horse like a balm. Like William, this boy has a certain, natural way with horses. I want to stride over to him and fire a round of questions, but I remember myself in time. Footmen don't do that sort of thing. Instead, I bite my tongue and wait in tortuous silence for the gentlemen to start talking amongst themselves.

'Poor devil's thrown a shoe!' Master Perry mutters sympathetically, his hand still resting on the horse's neck.

'Really?' the groom says with surprise, hurrying over to check Master Perry's observation. He gingerly inspects the horse's front right hoof.

'That's odd, they were only changed yesterday. As his Grace was confined to his bed, I took the opportunity to tend to the horse,' the groom explains, frowning and shaking his head.

'Is there a chance that they weren't fitted properly,' Master Perry asks. 'I don't wish to cast doubt over your horsemanship, I'm merely seeking an explanation,' he adds hurriedly, anxious not to cause offence. The groom, who did look on the verge of adopting a haughty expression, softens and decides to take the comment in the spirit in which it was meant.

'I doubt it, Sir. I took my time over the job,' the groom says gruffly.

'Very unusual,' Master Perry muses, troubled. He breaks himself out of his reverie and addresses us, the male staff. 'Now, my good men, the search party is to commence like this…'

We comb the woods. George is eventually found by a valet, sitting at the foot of a tree, apparently looking thoroughly bad tempered and dishevelled but having suffered no worse injury than a twisted ankle.

'Silly creature threw me off!' he regales airily later to the gentlemen. A hot bath and a cup of strong tea have done wonders to lift his mood. I didn't even need to resort to the whisky. 'Twisted my ankle somehow in the fall, and God knows how thankful I am to have escaped worse. I tried to hop after him, but it was incredibly tiring and so I had to give up and sit down and wait to be rescued. I felt rather like a damsel in distress.'

'Well, it could have been so much worse,' Sir Perry booms. 'Men have been killed by being thrown from a horse, and worse!' he says ominously.

'Worse than being killed?' his son wonders aloud.

'Indeed! A good friend of mine fell from a horse as it reared up, and he landed directly beneath it. The horse's left hoof came down directly on the poor man's crotch and crushed his manhood.'

Everyone at the table winces as though they can feel the descending hoof themselves and Master Perry throws his father a pained look for upsetting their company. I'm duty-bound to maintain my composure, but I'm feeling slightly green around the gills at the thought. George looks as though he's smothering a giggle.

'Oh, it wasn't that bad,' Sir Perry dismisses. 'He already had several sons!'

'That's a relief,' Sir Philip says drily.

I head downstairs to the kitchen.

'Don't go upstairs, girls,' I advise the maids. 'The gentlemen are telling stories that'll make your toenails curl, alright!' I light my cigarette and make a point of blowing in Kathy's face. She flaps a hand dramatically, as though being attacked by a murderous fly.

'Aye, Sir Perry's in a right grisly mood tonight,' Edward grins. 'And he wonders why ladies won't come to dinner anymore?'

'They won't come to dinner because he has a wandering eye and a roaming hand,' Kathy corrects. She picks up her wool again and starts knitting with the unconscious, mesmerising fluidity which comes from hundreds of hours of work. 'Even I'm afraid to walk along his corridor on me own.'

I snort unkindly. Even if I found women desirable, I'm fairly sure nothing on earth would make me want to touch that harpy. The harpy's sharp eyes land on me and scowl.

'I've had me fair share of men after me virtue,' she says coldly. Evans fires a warning cough, uncomfortable with the way the conversation is heading. Kathy ignores him.

'You're sure they were after your virtue and not just trying to get close enough to perform an exorcism?' I ask with a classic smirk.

Kathy's eyes narrow and she peers at me from the tiny little slits between her eyelashes.

'As though you understand? As though you'd know what to do with a woman's body. You're halfway a woman yourself!' she spits, and I stand up, shaking. I've done numerous things of which I'm not proud, but I've never hit a woman. At the moment, I'm so, so close to striking this vile female.

'Kathy!' Evans says, shocked. I glance around at everyone at the table for the first time, remembering that there are other people in the room. Everyone's face is frozen in stunned confusion. This is the sort of topic which so many people are aware of but never speak of. Hints and good-natured jokes allude to… to this, well, how I am, but nothing is ever spelled out. Nobody can believe that Kathy has shoved it into the light, and nobody knows quite where to look except for their hands. Not knowing where to look either, I adjust my livery (a nervous habit) and walk out into the courtyard.

After looking up at the stars for several minutes, wondering bitterly what they're so shiny and happy about, I realise that my cigarette is still burning in my hand. I inhale it deeply, and a lot of my more complicated emotions are clouded. It's easier this way. Just me and my cigarette against the big, bad world. Well, either that or me and a nice glass of wine. Carson never notices when the odd bottle disappears. O'Brien and I have spent some quite good nights pouring our hearts out with a bottle of red.

The kitchen maid comes out to empty the bins noisily. She stops for a second before going back in, teetering back and forth.

'Yes?' I ask.

'Ignore Kathy,' the maid says quickly. 'She's horrible and nobody likes her. She makes up nasty stories about everyone.' She makes eye contact for a fraction of a second before darting inside. I smile to myself. She was giving me a chance to deny it. I will deny it, of course, claiming that she spoke out of her own bitterness. I'll deny it in the morning, though. Right now, I don't have the energy.

I wait out here, getting colder. I suppose I was right in assuming that this is what Evans and Edward were worried that Kathy would 'let slip'.

Finally, I'm sure that most of the kitchen staff will have retreated to bed, and I head upstairs, hovering outside the drawing room until George needs me. He's late tonight; I hear his infectious laugh dance through the air, a more beautiful sound than any music. George is enjoying being the centre of attention, and I don't really blame him, but at the same time I want his arms around me. I wonder madly how the room would react if I just strolled in there and planted one square on George's lips. The thought is so audacious it makes my head spin.

At nearly one in the morning, George hops cheerfully out of the drawing room with a cane for his ankle. His face lights up when he sees me, and I'm transported a few minutes into the future when I'll be nuzzling my face into his neck.

'Come on,' he says brightly. 'You know, I rather like this cane. Sir Perry agreed to lend it to me, and I do think it gives me character. I might keep it even after the pain subsides.'

'Does it hurt very much?' I ask with mocking sympathy.

'I'll have you know I'm in agony. I ought to have that horse carted off to the glue factory after what it did to me!'

'You beast!' I tell him as I open the bedroom door for him.

'I'm joking, of course,' he smiles, his hands settling naturally on my hips now that we're alone. 'I could never hurt Sierra Wind. Some things are too beautiful to say goodbye to, no matter how much of an inconvenience they cause.' His fingers trace my face, running along my jawline, nose and neck as he talks, as though he's sculpting me.

'Do I inconvenience you?' I ask softly.

'Well, you're certainly not making my life any easier!' he teases. He kisses me very softly then lollops over to the bed, sitting on the edge. I lean to untie his shoes and his fingers wend through my hair.

'You don't regret it at all?' I ask, attempting to keep my voice light, but feeling it crack with my words.

'Regret, no – why do you ask?' George frowns. His hands cup my face and he studies me intently. 'What's brought this on?'

'It's nothing,' I say with a smile. 'One of the housemaids, Kathy, has been winding me up, that's all, and I'm enough of a fool to let her get to me.

'That silly cow!' George says harshly, rolling his eyes. 'She's not worth lending an ear to! Foul woman!'

It surprises me that he would know a maid well enough to speak so strongly against her.

'I'm angry at her because she's upset you!' George says anxiously. His brown eyes look beseechingly into mine as I undress him. With his clothes hung away, I spread my fingers over his body, resting my forehead on his collarbone.

'She was saying earlier about all the men who were trying to seduce her,' I say with a laugh, feeling better.

George laughs, too. 'I've heard that she's a bit of a loose woman. I'm surprised that Sir Perry still employs her, though I suppose that old dog is pleased about it. Kathy seems to be more the seducer than seduced – only this morning she was out it the stables at the break of dawn. I bet she was trying to catch a stable hand unawares!'

'How did you know?' I ask curiously.

'Oh, the groom was muttering about it this morning when I went to get Sierra Wind. She was lurking about, apparently. Now,' he says, grinning suddenly, 'are we going to waste precious time talking about a horrible woman whom everyone loathes, or are we going to make the most of the night?'


	8. Chasing Secrets

Chapter eight: Chasing Shadows

I wake early and, resisting the urge to kiss George awake, get dressed and slip out noiselessly. The light is flat and grey; half past five, maybe? The perfect time to head down to the stables for a nice, friendly chat with the groom.

The stable door is slightly ajar. Inside, the air is filled with the sweet scent of hay and the warmth of lanterns. The groom is caring for a bay mare lying in a bed of straw, her large head drooping sideways. He pats her glistening neck. It feels oddly indecent to be intruding on the sickbed of a horse. My discomfort must show on my face; the groom glances up and smiles briefly.

'Lucille will be alright. Influenza clears up by itself in a week or so,' he says conversationally. 'What are you doing skulking about the stables at this time in the morning?'

'Fancied a chat,' I say cagily. I'm not exactly sure where to start.

'Oh?' the groom answers, not paying me very much attention. He takes a bucket of bran from the stable boy, a gangling, scruffy lad.

'Do you know why the horse threw its shoe yesterday?' I launch, trying to sound casual, although I know that I'm failing dramatically.

'I suppose you think you suspect why,' the groom murmurs. He finally turns away from the mare and faces me, crossing his sunburnt arms and looking me straight in the eye. 'You wouldn't be coming down here to ask if you didn't suspect, and not so early in the day, either.'

'You're spot on – I reckon someone tampered with the shoe,' I say, lowering my voice.

The groom shrugs noncommittally and tilts his head back and forth as though considering.

'There's no way to prove it. I can't accuse no soul of anything like that, but I _can_ say that those shoes were new and I fitted them myself. There's no reason that one should have come off.'

I listen to what he's saying and what he's being very careful not to say. The last thing this man wants is an investigation, especially when he would be the most likely suspect, given his proximity to the horses.

'Apparently, you saw Kathy here early yesterday morning?' I say bluntly.

'She was here yes, but' he adds sharply, 'you won't hear me say nothing against nobody. I'm not going to tell you I saw her up to no good.'

'But she was here?'

'That's right.'

'Was anybody else in the stables between the time that you had the shoes fitted and the time that the horses were taken out for riding?'

The groom sighs. 'Only me, the other two grooms and Benjamin here,' he says with a nod to the stable hand whose head jerks at the sound of his name like an obedient dog. I look at the boy doubtfully and he scratches his head with vacant laziness. He doesn't_ look_ like a killer.

'What did you tell them lot up there?' I ask the groom, meaning the gentlemen.

He laughs. 'Nothing. I said I couldn't think why it happened and they didn't ask anything more. They've probably decided it was some freak accident. It probably was. I'd put the thing to rest if I was you. Don't see why it matters to you anyway?' He gives a final shrug. I can't very well say that I'm rapidly falling for the Duke and I couldn't bear to see him in danger.

I head back inside. Most of the house is still asleep; only the kitchen maids scurrying about are the first stirrings of life in the place. One of them blinks confusedly at me as I sweep past her and upstairs.

I leave it another couple of hours before I wake George.

'Come on, Darling,' I urge, shaking him gently. He moans and flips over, burying himself into his pillows.

'I'd go in there after you, but I'd crease my livery,' I sigh. The bare nape of his neck is visible from within the nest he's made, and I walk my fingers softly along it, tickling him.

'Stop,' he giggles. 'Very well, I surrender. I'll get up.' He yawns very dramatically and sits up. His hair has fallen haphazardly over his eyes and he has the slightest growth of sandpapery stubble roughening up his aristocratic elegance.

'I'll get your razor,' I smile. 'You can't turn up at the garden party looking as though you've been living off your wits in the woods.'

George groans. 'That. I'd completely forgotten about that. Bloody hell. What time does it start?'

'One. I thought you liked parties?' I say.

'Not garden parties. Too many old ladies. I can't act as vulgar as I would wish. I'll just have to compensate by thinking extremely vulgar thoughts.' He flashes me a smile. I don't think the day will ever come when I find him anything less than irresistible.

Promptly in time for one o'clock, I spruce George up in his white linen suit. He studies himself in front of the mirror, not without vanity. I can't help smiling. Leaning forward, I hug him from behind, my arms crossing his stomach, and I bury my face in his neck, inhaling his smell of soap and cologne.

'You always smell so clean,' I murmur.

'Well, I bathe three times a day and never lift a finger. What do you expect?'

It's a sunny day, but with a fresher wind than is usual for this time of year. I'm not as hot as I feared I would be as I float around the guests with tray of delicate cakes and pastries. Edward is also circling, carrying champagne in graceful little glasses. The aristocracy all think that they are talking about terribly interesting and clever things, but they're simply recycling the same topics: who is going to marry whom, which girls have remained on the shelf an awfully long time, who's died, who's inherited, who's looking for a new butler because the last ran off with a scullery maid. Well, that last one was pretty interesting, mostly because it's given me the vivid mental image of Carson and Daisy skipping off together, hand in hand. I'm not sure whether to laugh or shudder.

The kitchen staff are bustling around in a fantastically large marquee and Edward and I swoop in occasionally to refill our trays.

'Has his Grace recovered from the fall?' Edward asks me as we pass each other.

'Yes, he's coming along, but he still can't put his whole weight on the leg,' I answer.

'That's good, then. Master Eric has been worrying that it would upset the visit, but I don't think that it has. Oh, Sir Perry wouldn't have minded,' Edward adds, foreseeing my question. 'He never cares what other people think.'

'That's the healthiest way to be, isn't it?' I say. 'Not giving a damn.'

Edward shrugs. 'Maybe. Can be dangerous, though.'

Frustratingly, he veers away from me to serve drinks to the March family. It's several minutes before our paths meet again.

'Edward, I need to ask you something.' I wonder how he'll react to the discovery that I was eavesdropping, but there's no way to avoid that, really. 'I overheard a conversation between you and Mr Evans the other day.'

Edward stiffens noticeably. He knows the conversation I have in mind.

'Well, you and Mr Evans were saying that Kathy's temper would flare up. What did you mean by that? Were you worried that she was going to do something?' He's clearly uncomfortable and I don't want to push my luck, but I need to know what happened and I can't think of any other way of starting. We go our separate ways again, and I hope it gives Edward time to think up a good response.

'Of course not. She's a nasty piece of work, but she likes her security here. She would never do anything to put her position in danger.'

'You're dead sure about that?' I ask sceptically. 'She obviously isn't happy about something,' I point out. Edward flinches.

'None of us are pleased with what you're doing. We're not stupid,' he mutters at me, registering the surprise on my face. I'm not used to people addressing this taboo so openly. 'Live and let live, I say. Don't see how it has anything to do with me, in any case.'

'I wish parliament shared your opinion,' I say under my breath.

'It isn't that, though,' Edward interrupts.

'What?'

'What you think it is. What we were talking about before, about Kathy letting something slip. It's not what you think, or at least it isn't_ quite_ what you think. She isn't angry about… well, I mean she's not upset because she thinks that a horrific crime is being committed.'

'So what's going on, then?' I hiss urgently.

We go inside to refill our trays. The kitchen maids hurriedly ply us with more miniature sandwiches. Edward avoids me for the rest of the garden party and won't meet my eye. I wish I had a pack of wild horses to help me drag it out of him.

Later, in the servants' hall, we're just sitting down for supper when one of the kitchen maids turns to me curiously. There had been a calm, gentle end-of-the-day atmosphere, but it suddenly turns very awkward as she speaks.

'What were you and Edward talking about so intensely earlier?' she asks.

'What do you mean? We were just discussing the most efficient way to get around the guests,' I drawl.

'Didn't look like it,' she says. 'Looked a bit heated from we could see.'

'Shut it, Georgia, you don't know what you're on about,' Edward snaps. I see Evans shoot him a warning look. That's unfortunate. The last thing I want is for Evans to warn Edward about saying too much to me. If that happens, I'll never get any more information out of him.

'Well, pardon me for stepping on your toes!' Georgia says sulkily, crossing her arms. She casts a sour look over to Evans, evidently having expected him to give Edward a telling off for being so short.

By a stroke of chance, I manage to catch Edward alone before he goes to bed. He turns in slightly earlier than the other footmen and I intercept him in the empty men's corridor.

'Edward! Wait!' I say, just before he goes into his room. He pauses, his hand still on the handle.

'What do you want?' he asks abruptly.

'For you to tell me what's going on. You weren't as convincing as you thought when you told me that Kathy wouldn't try and pull anything. What if she tampers with the horse again and the Duke is killed next time?' I'm fed up with speaking in codes and hints.

'She won't,' Edward says very quietly, almost a whisper. His eyes scour the vicinity rapidly.

'So you've stopped denying it then?' I say. I thought I'd be triumphant, but I can't kill the worry building up inside me. A part of me wanted for it all to be a misunderstanding.

'Kathy was very upset. It was a moment of madness. Evans has spoken to her and she promises not to do anything else – she was very shaken by it, you know!' I can't believe that he's defending her.

'But why? Why would she do it, and why are you letting her get away with it?'

Maybe if I can keep him a minute longer, I could have it out of him. He looks so very sympathetic and he sighs softly as though yielding. But it is at this moment that a junior footman starts creaking up the stairs.

'Goodnight,' he says as he passes us, nodding.

'Goodnight,' Edward repeats and looks away from me. His guard is up again now and I'll get nothing more tonight.

He goes to bed, leaving me alone in the corridor. I let out a sound somewhere between a moan and a snarl and head downstairs. The gentlemen are just finishing up for the night, and I stand next to Bates and Jones, waiting.

'Where have you been?' Jones grumbles.

'What's it to you?' I counter. The gentlemen emerge from the drawing room before Jones has time to press me further.

'You seemed rather distracted at the party earlier,' George says as soon as we're alone together. 'I tried to catch your eye a few times for a secret flirt, but you were too preoccupied by that other footman. He was handsome, too, so I became somewhat jealous.'

I laugh. 'Footmen are always handsome. Nobody wants an ugly footman.'

'No,' George agrees thoughtfully. 'It would be awfully dreary to have the front door opened by an ugly fellow. Anyway, what was so interesting?'

'We were talking about Kathy,' I say. George heaves a great sigh and looks almost peevish as I undress him, although very attractively peevish.

'I thought I told you to stop worrying about her. She's an unpleasant woman and that's the end of the matter!'

'I think it was her who tampered with Sierra Wind's shoe. Those shoes were newly changed, so they should have been sound as a pound. Someone must have interfered and you said yourself that she was seen there that morning!' I say anxiously.

George sighs again, cups my face in his hands and kisses me forcefully. My worries fade remarkably quickly as our lips meld together. I grip his hips and pull him closer to me. Once again, we're safe in this room, and any outside dangers are reduced to myth.

'The way you worry about me is adorable, but I assure you that you're inventing trouble that doesn't exist. Sierra Wind's shoe can't have been fitted properly, that's all.'

I give up trying to convince him for now. For whatever reason, he isn't listening to the truth, and I'm going to need stronger proof before he believes me. So I relent, and abandon myself to the moment. George pushes me back and kisses my chest fiercely. Tomorrow, I have some snooping to do and I only wish O'Brien were here to lend a sneaky, resourceful hand.


	9. A Doppelganger in a Photograph

**This chapter has been a while coming, but I've been away and minus Internet recently!**

Chapter Nine: A Doppelganger in a Photograph

'Thomas, if you could be _so_ kind as to lend a hand, I'm sure I would be _eternally _grateful,' Evans says with heavy sarcasm and deep fury in his eyes. I nod but don't say anything. I _have_ been dodging work a little today in my effort to corner Kathy and I'm not very surprised that Evans has just come down on me like a ton of bricks. Had I been at home, William would have been more than happy to pick up the slack, tail wagging. Jones, however, is less eager to accommodate: I could hear him grumbling bitterly to Evans in the pantry a few minutes ago.

'Of course, Mr Evans,' I say bracingly. It's been two more days and I've yet to unearth anything new concerning Kathy. The only thing stopping me from giving up is the shifty, sour look in her eye. It's the same look which I have when I'm plotting someone's downfall, and I don't trust it one bit. On the other hand, Sir John Perry's extravagant party will be ending the day after tomorrow, and so it might be wiser to hold tight and hope that nothing happens.

Or not.

I've been waiting all day for some time to myself and at about five o'clock I get my chance. Everybody is rushed off their feet preparing for dinner, too distracted to notice me, and so I manage to sidle away for a moment.

I make my way to the attic, hoping to avoid anyone. If I'm seen, it's bound to raise questions, or I might be asked to help out with something or another. As luck would have it, I get to the servants' corridor without crossing paths and head to the women's side.

There's a certain thrill to being in the female corridor, even to me when I have no interest in women. The illicitness is intoxicating. Yes, there's a lock on the door, but nothing which can't be quite easily picked, and then I'm through, heart pounding in my ears. If I'm caught here, I would be in deep trouble.

I check the rooms quickly. As a housemaid, Kathy would likely be sharing a room and so I quickly scan each bedroom with twin beds. The first two contain kitchen maid uniforms, but the third has housemaid dresses hanging in the wardrobe. Snatching a drawer open, I find letters addressed to Kathy and my heart leaps.

I sit on the bed to skim read them quickly. They're letters from home, from her parents and sister. The theme is fairly recurrent: _I hope you're well … things at the farm are plodding along nicely… the neighbours send their love… harvest is difficult at the moment… we're in for a tough winter… little Lucy is engaged to a local farm hand… take care of yourself and our Timmy… we're all missing you… Michael Connelly's son is dead, mining accident… I hope you're helping Timmy settle in alright…_

I wonder who Timmy is. He crops up in almost every letter and I'm already starting to picture a frail creature in need of nurturing.

I check the dates. Timmy, in fact, is mentioned in every letter up until the last sixth months. He is not mentioned in any recent letter, and the tone of these letters are… well, not unkind, but not kind either. They're shorter, too, and to the point. I wonder what happened.

At the very back of the pile, I find a letter from Timmy himself and read it eagerly, wondering if it will solve the mystery.

_My dear, dear Kathy,_

_How excited I am to be accepted at Thetford Park! A letter came just this morning to say that my application has been a success and I am to start as footman next week. I am sure you have heard already, but I am bursting to tell you myself anyway!_

_Footman! Can you imagine? Me, a footman! Your little Timmy dressed up all fine and serving on Lords and Ladies. I am positively shaking with excitement as I write! I would bet ten pounds that it was your good word which did it. Having a sister as head housemaid must have gone in my favour, because I was sure I had made a mess of things on the day._

_Mum and Dad are as pleased as anything. They have told the whole village and everyone in the family already, especially Aunty Joy who said I would never amount to anything._

_I am to catch the train on Tuesday and I am nervous already, partly because of the job and partly because of the train! You know I have never ridden one before, only seen people off in them. This time, it is me who is being seen off, who is having an adventure!_

_A thousand kisses and hugs from everyone back home, and I look forward to seeing you next Tuesday!_

_Love,_

_Your Timmy_

It's a touching letter. As much as I'm sick of being a footman by now, I recognise some of the old excitement which I felt when I first came to Downton Abbey. I was utterly bowled over by the grandeur and the fact that I was allowed to become part of it. It took a few years for disillusion to set in and for me to resent being part of the decoration.

The letter is dated nearly two years ago.

I wonder again what happened to him. He must have left here around sixth months ago, when the letters stop mentioning him. I turn the letter over in my hand, searching for some sort of sign.

Nothing in any of the remaining letters give any sort of clue, but the more recent ones do all seem to be skirting around something: …_your father still has not quite got over it… things have been awkward at home since the incident… I hope you can make it home sometime soon, it would cheer us greatly to see you…_

My hand scrabbles through the drawer, looking for an answer of some sort. At the bottom of the drawer are a few small photos, presumably the faces of family members, some of them looking like Kathy and others not. Like all families, they seem to fit together neatly, their differences uniting them as much as similarities. There's a cheerfulness hidden in the photos in spite of the sombre expressions which posing for a camera demands.

For a mad second I think that Kathy has a photo of me in there and I grab at it. No, it isn't me, but the resemblance is quite breath taking. He's younger than I am, around eighteen, but we could be brothers.

I've relaxed while sitting down and reading, so I'm too slow to react to the footsteps coming towards the door, too mesmerised by my Doppelganger. It wouldn't have made much of a difference if I had been quicker – where would I have hidden?

I'm still standing frozen when Kathy opens the door and glares at me with all the fury of hell.

'What are you doing in my room?' she snarls. Her eyes fall to the picture which is still in my hand and she snatches it from me angrily, shaking with rage.

'Is that Timmy in the photo?' I ask.

She's a banshee now, howling at me.

'You've been reading my letters, you bastard! How _dare_ you, you foul, foul creature!' she spits, but tears are streaming down her face through her rage.

I retreat. There's no way on Earth that I'm getting any sensible information from Kathy while she's in this state, and I'm half afraid that if I stay she'll murder me with her bare hands.

This situation is frustrating me. There's absolutely no one I can ask about this, no one who can help me solve the mystery.

'Where have you been hiding all day?' Edward asks sulkily as we change our livery for the evening meal. I take a gamble and decide to trust him.

'Investigating,' I mutter in return.

A frown creases his forehead. 'Oh, dear. I'm positive I'd rather not know what you were investigating.'

'Kathy's brother worked here as footman, didn't he?' I start.

Edward lets out a restricted sigh and looks sadly at me. 'You're really going to wish you hadn't dragged all that up. Kathy was just about beginning to get over it before you turned up. You know, she wasn't all that unpleasant before. She was never a ray of sunshine, but she wasn't as bitter as she is now.'

'Why should my turning up stop her from getting over something?' I challenge.

'You look so much like her brother. You remind her of him and it turns her bitter.'

'What happened to him? Did he die?' I wonder.

'No, nothing like that,' Edward says. 'But according to some, he might as well be. To the family, he's as good as dead. Now, be quiet, we need to take the first lot of trays up!' he chides me.

I follow him upstairs, grabbing an asparagus wrapped in bacon and drizzled with hollandaise for myself and wolfing it down quickly.

'Thomas!' Evans warns.

'Just testing for poison, Sir,' I say hastily.

Unlike at a garden party, two footmen can't very well have a conversation as they circle a dinner table. I itch with secret curiosity as I glide along with a silver platter of asparagus.

'I have the most fantastic ball planned for tomorrow evening!' Sir Perry roars brightly. 'I've invited everyone within a fifty mile radius. Well, everyone who matters! We're a little short on ladies. My dear Grantham, you should invite your lovely daughters! I daresay Crowborough would like that!' he adds with an ungallant wink.

I smother my own smile. Sir Perry's attempt to hide the fact that he is lusting after Lady Mary is paper thin. He was licking his chops in the last London party. Lord Grantham smiles politely but does not answer.

'He's an old dog, isn't he?' George says later as I'm undressing him. 'Sir Perry, I mean.'

I laugh.

'He's not much of a gentleman,' I agree.

'Why, he's not a gentleman at all, not really. He's not a peer!' I forget how much of a snob George can be when he sets his mind to it.

George grabs my hand and kisses it lovingly, turning it over and running tickling kisses along my wrist. He smiles winningly.

'Be a darling would you and massage my shoulders? I have the most frightful knots and I promise faithfully to repay the favour,' he croons.

Adoringly, I give him a massage, kneading his shoulders until he moans.

'Thank you, that's better. I've been so stressed, I needed that!' I wonder what could possibly stress him out. Not enough feathers in his pillow, too many rings for his fingers, heavy trousers from all the sovereigns in his pockets?

He smiles up at me. 'Of course, you must think me dreadfully petty to be complaining in my position!'

'Of course not!' I lie.

'But really, being a duke isn't as easy as you might imagine. There are all sorts of politics which being rich involves, and running an estate is often so complicated!'

'You poor thing,' I say with a raised eyebrow.

He laughs and pulls me around from behind him so that I'm half on his lap.

'Very well, I'll stop whining,' he whispers and kisses me, biting my lower lip. 'Now it's your turn for a massage, I believe.'

Having a massage is definitely a rather strange sensation. This is the first I've ever had and the indulgence of it is new to me. George is clearly used to being pampered, but I'm not, and I find it difficult to relax and do nothing while he takes care of me, his impossibly soft hand trailing along my back, pushing circles into me. His lips soon start joining his hands, tasting my flesh.

'I'll be sad to leave here,' I mumble softly.

'As will I,' George sighs. 'I've grown remarkably sweet on you. I might have to take you with me.'

I know he's teasing me, but my heart aches.

'If you ever want to get away from Downton, let me know,' he murmurs. 'What fun we could have!'

It's an almost unbearably sweet thought, to be whisked away. I hope to God he isn't just speaking in the passion of the moment.


	10. Two Sides of a Coin

Chapter Ten: Two Sides of a Coin

Today is the last day at Thetford Park and Evans is busily planning the smallest details for tonight's party. He's distracted enough for me to slip outside for a sneaky ciggy.

The day is grey and miserable. I know how it feels. These past few days have offered me the sweetest happiness I've experienced in a long time. It's a shame that sweet things are so often not very good for you.

'Shirking again?' a pleasant voice asks. I turn to see the groom entering the court yard.

'I'm not shirking, I'm thinking,' I defend.

He laughs. 'That's the same thing, mate, for us lot! We can't afford the luxury of sitting and thinking.'

I smile in agreement. No, we don't have time to ourselves. Being in domestic service means owning nothing, least of all your own time and choices.

I'm on the verge of going back inside – I don't want to push my luck and I don't think Evans' blood pressure will take much more, anyway. I chuck my cigarette to the floor and crush it.

Before I get the chance to go in, Kathy steps outside, hugging her shawl around her tightly. It isn't very cold outside; she must be one of those people who always feel a chill no matter what the weather. Her beady eyes are fixed on me but much of yesterday's anger has dissipated. Without saying anything, she sidles up next to me, leaning against the wall.

I wonder if I should say anything as the awkward seconds stretch themselves out between us. It only takes two or three seconds of silence before most people start panicking.

'Look, don't say anything to them,' she mutters finally. 'Don't say to them what I did to that horse. Edward says you've cottoned on. It was daft of me, but I ain't going to try anything again so I'd appreciate if you didn't say anything.'

'It was a bit more than daft, it was attempted murder!' I hiss indignantly. I'm rarely able to take the moral high ground with people and I tend to take full advantage of it when I can.

'I wasn't trying to get him killed, just a little hurt, so there's no need to be so melodramatic,' she sighs.

'Why?' I ask bluntly.

She doesn't want to say. Her eyes screw themselves up and she looks pained. It's alarming to see someone act like this. We live in a world where, if you absolutely _must_ cry, it should be behind a closed door, and that door best be locked and bolted.

'Because of what he did to my brother,' she admits shakily. Some instinct tell me that this is the first time she has spoken properly about this.

She glances sideways at me. 'You look _so much_ like Timmy. I suppose you saw that yourself from the photograph. Two peas in a pod, as my old mum says. I knew straight away that he'd be after you,' she says with a strained voice.

I don't ask what she means. I'm already starting to work it out for myself and my stomach is disappearing, withering away to leave a black hole inside of me.

'Timmy was always my favourite brother, but then I think he was everyone's favourite. He was so full of life and energy and laughter, and he was wonderfully clever. He could have gone to a grammar school if Dad hadn't needed his help on the farm. All the girls in the village flocked around him after church on Sunday, he was that handsome.'

'The duke found him handsome, too,' I guess.

Kathy nods.

'The Duke stayed over for New Year's Eve. Timmy came and told me in secret how the duke had _taken advantage_ of him. He was very shocked and upset,' Kathy says firmly, her eyes flashing a warning at me as though I'm about to suggest he enjoyed it.

'He was so naive,' Kathy sighs. 'I didn't know what to say to him. We couldn't very well tell Evans. All I could say was to reject the duke the best he could.'

I can't imagine that working very well. George can be very persuasive and a young footman could hardly argue with an aristocrat. I'd feel sorry for him if I wasn't burning with jealousy. I never entertained the notion that I was George's first lover, but I still don't like to be reminded of past affairs.

'What happened?' I ask, not looking forward to knowing the answer.

'Timmy didn't really like to talk about it, but he complied for a while. He was unhappy, but he could see no way out of it. Those people,' she says angrily, 'they think they can do whatever they like with us!' I'm inclined to agree with her.

'But then,' Kathy continued, 'things went sour. Lust often does that. I don't know what exactly happened, but the duke started to lose interest in my brother and there was an argument. The next thing I knew, Timmy was dismissed. The duke made a formal complaint regarding Timmy's behaviour. He accused Timmy of making advances on him and Sir Perry had him pack his bags that very night.'

I've heard of that sort of thing happening and it doesn't surprise me. I don't want to hear anymore but I need to.

'Timmy felt he couldn't go home. Mum and Dad would have believed him if he'd said that it was the Duke who did it, not him. Timmy didn't see that, though, he was mortified. He felt he couldn't face the family, so he went to London, hoping to find another job.'

That didn't sound good. London was teeming with unemployed, and without a reference there wasn't much hope.

'Did he find anything?' I ask.

Kathy laughed. 'What do you think? He ended up falling in with a criminal gang. He was arrested six months ago for theft. He's still in prison now.'

I feel desperately sorry for Timmy. Prison is a difficult thing and the people who survive it are broken by it, their health shattered.

'You know, I've been to see him a couple times. The first time he burst into tears. The second time he was a hardened criminal. There was no life left in his eyes, no energy, no laughter. His cleverness had been twisted into ruthless cunning. As far as I'm concerned, the Duke of Crowborough destroyed my brother.'

I don't know what to say.

'Anyway, as much as I hate that man, I'm not going to try and hurt him again,' Kathy tells me with a shrug. Her bitterness seems to be radiating off her, but I also sense her defeat. She's too tired to be enraged any longer.

'We should go back inside,' I mutter. 'Evans will be sharpening the guillotine if I'm out here any longer.'

Kathy certainly has given me plenty to think about. I look at George as I'm serving lunch, wondering if he's truly capable of such cruelty. In his presence, I find it so difficult to believe.

'You're quiet,' George comments as I'm helping him change for dinner.

'It's nothing,' I say quickly, doing his cuff links.

George cups my face. 'It isn't nothing; you're barely looking at me.'

The eye contact between us mesmerises me. I manage a small smile.

'I spoke to Kathy,' I admit.

George sighs. 'What did that snake have to say for herself?'

'She told me about her brother?'

George's hands are still on my face and his eyes look so sorrowfully into mine.

'She made it sound like my fault, didn't she?' George asks. I nod. He laughs humourlessly. 'Listen to me, Timmy wasn't as innocent as she would have liked to believe. We were together for a few weeks, and then we were caught by the housekeeper. Timmy lost his job and he blamed me for it. I offered to help him, support him until he found another position, but he wanted nothing to do with me!' George kisses me, his lips inviting me to forget.

'Timmy was sacked, but nothing happened to you,' I repeat.

'Don't act innocent. You know how the world works. I'm not saying it's fair, but I'm not going to complain about it,' George says gently.

'Kathy's version of events doesn't exactly match your own,' I whisper.

'Why would it? She's bitter about what happened. It was unfortunate, but it wasn't my fault!'

I want to believe him. As his hands roam over me, I want to believe every word he says. But how can I believe either him or Kathy when they both have reasons to lie?

The ball is fantastic. Lord Grantham has summoned his two eldest daughters, and Mary is the centre of attention again. I wonder if it's her looks or the rumours that she is to inherit now that James and Patrick are dead which draw their interest. Probably a mixture of the two.

George politely dances with the majority of the ladies in the room, including Lady Edith. She looks a little star-struck, poor thing. In a strange way, I actually feel as though life has dealt be a better hand than Lady Edith. Finally, George dances with Lady Mary, treating her to his most dashing smile. I'm envious, of course, but I also know that he needs a wife, an heiress, and Lady Mary is worthy of him. I'd hate to think of him marrying one of those simpering, delicate girls which the upper classes too often breed. No, if he has to have a wife, Lady Mary is a pretty good match for him.

Too soon, the night is over.

'Lord Grantham wants to leave early tomorrow,' I tell George. 'I'll be gone before you're awake.'

'This time has come around so fast,' George says ruefully, taking me in his arms and burying himself in my neck. My fingers stroke his hair. For now, for tonight, he is mine, but I can't trust anything beyond that.

'I'll be back in London before the end of the season,' he says, a little more brightly. 'I'll write to you to let you know when. Now,' he adds with a mischievous grin. 'Let me make the most of you!'

Again, he seduces me with his charm and wit, pushing me onto his bed and taking off the many layers of a footman's livery. I often wonder if they make the clothing so complicated to discourage this sort of thing. Right now, I'm not wondering that, I'm closing my eyes and forgetting everything, forgetting in a few short hours I'll be heading for London.

When the time comes for me to leave, in the bleak half-light of dawn, George grabs my hand, half-asleep, his aristocratic blood protesting against waking up at this hour.

'You're not leaving yet?' he mumbles, forcing one of his eyes open.

'I have to,' I whisper.

He pulls my hand towards him and kisses it goodbye.

'Don't forget me,' I ask him.

'Don't be silly,' he dismisses sleepily.

'You won't be tempted by some other man? You said that Edward was handsome,' I check, annoyed at myself for acting like this.

George chuckles. 'He pretty, but he's not my cup of tea! Don't worry, we'll see each other soon in London and pick up where we left off,' he promises naughtily.

I smile back at him. 'Now I really have to go. The luggage needs to be put in the car and Bates can't do that.' That useless, placid lump can't do bloody anything, I add in my head.

As I leave the room, I glance back; George is already asleep, sprawled gracefully. Edward will look after him later, and I swear to God if he tries anything, I'll scratch his eyes out.

With each step I take away from the room, I feel as though I'm being dragged deeper underwater, away from light and air. _It's okay,_ I reassure myself, _I'll see him again soon. Everything will work out fine._


End file.
